


step by step

by Zwetschgenzweig



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6415459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zwetschgenzweig/pseuds/Zwetschgenzweig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iceland is in love, head over heels. And because his annoying family would never leave him alone, he tries to get closer to her. Slowly, step by step - with all the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	step by step

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native tongue so I apologize for any mistake I made.

Iceland is a human wreck. A complete wreck. There's no way he will ever be repaired again. He just needs to look at her and suddenly he starts shaking, stutters in an absurd mixture of English and Icelandic and his heartbeat goes mad. In other words: he's head over heels in love.  
There's just a little problem …  
“You're gawking at her again.” Norway doesn't even look up, while he continues to take notes in a neat handwriting that is way to accurate for Iceland's liking.  
Iceland blushes and it feels like his head is about to explode because of heat, as he throws himself back with such a power that the backrest of his chair squeaks. “Am not!” He crosses his arms in front of his chest with a mixture of shame and anger and stares at his brother.  
The hint of a more than amused smile dances over Norway's lips. “Yes, you were, lillebror. And I think she has noticed it as well.”  
The reddish tone on Iceland's cheeks is getting darker. “What should she have noticed? There's nothing to notice!”  
“Ah well”, is Norway's dry reply, “and I guess nothing is also the reason you're blushing so cute.”  
“Stop calling me cute!” Iceland's voice is louder than it was meant to be. And the jumping up part like a scalded cat hadn't been part of his plan. Not that he had a plan in first place…  
No matter what, now he has the attention from nearly every country in this room. Even England, who is actually way to busy with showering his French archenemy with swear words that would be worth censoring, shots Iceland a confused look. And Switzerland who still points a gun at Prussia's face (Why is Prussia even here? He's not a real nation anymore!) has stopped and is starring skeptical at him. Prussia's luck, Iceland's misfortune.  
With a sound that reminds of a helpless little puppy, Iceland is falling down on his chair again. And then Norway is not even able to bite back a muttered little “Cute” that only Iceland can hear, the poor boy buries his head between his arms and wishes for nothing more than a hole he can fall into, while Germany continues with the meeting.

“I think you should ask her if she wants to go out with you.”  
Denmark is drunk. That's nothing special (even if Iceland doesn't doubt that he would say something like that sober – he is Denmark and Denmark has no sense of tact at all), after all today is one of these days, then he takes his car, drives over the German border and comes back with a car trunk full with beer bottles. Naturally only because it's so cheap over there and even a nation has to save money from time to time. (Of course, what other reason would there be?)  
Iceland ignores him (that's always the smartest way to handle a drunk Denmark) and stuffs licorice from the bag that Denmark had bought him in a gas station near the border into his mouth (German licorice is not as good as what he's used to, but it's better than nothing) while he pets Mr. Puffin, who is sleeping on his lap.  
“You know”, Denmark hiccups, “When you're not careful enough someone's going steal her away from you.”  
Iceland can feel the blush creeping up his face, but he doesn't care. It's not like Denmark would notice something like that anyway. He is way too concentrated on his beer. “Nobody's going steal her away from me, 'cause she isn't even mine to begin with.” The defiance seems to come in his voice all by itself.  
“And exactly that is the problem!” Denmark laughs – it's a wild and drunk laugh – while Iceland goes back to his originally way of handling all this and stuffs another licorice in his mouth, before he says something stupid again. (It's terrifying how many things Denmark sometimes seems to remember after one of his drinking nights.)

Finland crosses his fingers and smiles encouragingly at him and Iceland is thankful – even though he just nods and turns around. He knows that his whole family wishes him luck. That Norway is probably smiling mysteriously. That Denmark is jumping around like the hyperactive dog he really is. And that Sweden backs him up in his own calm and quiet way.  
And even if Iceland expect it, somehow it helps him to find the courage he needs in order to do what he had wanted to do for a pretty long time now.   
Liechtenstein is standing in a corner and she and Hungary are chattering happily. They laugh. Maybe he shouldn't interrupt their conversation? After all that's impolite and Iceland doesn't want to seem like an impolite person in front of her. It sure is better than he just turns around before he annoys one of them.  
He casts a glance over his shoulder. Everything is as he had expected it to be. An encouraging Finland, a hyperactive Denmark, a quiet Sweden and a smiling Norway who snaps in the direction of the little Central European nation.  
Iceland understands the broad hint. He swallows hard. It seems like a big chunk had been forming in his throat that just wouldn't want to go away. “You can do it!”, he mutters more to himself than to anyone else and then his fingers have already touched her shoulder.  
Liechtenstein turns around alarmed and for just one second – that feels like an hour – his heart stays still, because – damn – she's beautiful. He inhales sharply. No, she's absolutely gorgeous. Like an angel. With her short blonde locks that seem to be nearly golden in the incidental sunlight and those big, deep green eyes which normally remind of thick forests, but look more like a scared deer right now.  
The already well-known blush is back on his cheeks and his hand wanders up on its own to scratch the back of his head. “Uh, sorry”, he presses through his lips that seem to be as dry as sandpaper, “I didn't mean to scare you.” He mentally slaps himself. 'I didn't mean to scare you'. Wow. Just wow. Very intelligent and creative. Congratulations Iceland.  
From the corner of his eyes he can see the knowing smile appear on Hungary's lips which really doesn't help him to get past his fear. She mutters something about “Austria”, “getting lost” and “searching for him” and than she walks away with a grin that seems to get bigger every second.  
Liechtenstein gazes after her for a few moments, before she turns around to him. “It's not a problem, Iceland.” She smiles shyly, her fingers brush lightly over her lower arm and Iceland notices with a little (enormous) shock that she feels uncomfortable, that she doesn't know what to say or do, because she hardly knows him and that the overwhelming silence stresses her.  
“I, uh, I”, he begins uncertain and is about to take another desperate glance over his shoulder, “I just wanted to ask if you perhaps would like to do something together one day or other, since … since we're both countries that other people tend to forget and so we should try to hold together and …” He can't finish the sentence, because he simply doesn't know what to say anymore. Iceland's throat feels as dry as a desert and he has the feeling that a glass of water wouldn't be that much of a bad idea right now (maybe it would even help against his red cheeks?).  
Liechtenstein's face brightens noticeably. Her smile becomes broad and free and Iceland can't help but exhale relieved when the conspicuous discomfort disappears from her face. “Yes, I would love to do something with you!”  
They talk about this and that. Unimportant things that Iceland nearly can't remember when he finally returns to his family with steps which are so much more livelier than usual. What he remembers, however, is her smiling face with the hint of freckles on her cheeks and the small, almost invisible scar at her hairline.  
Iceland has never felt so light in his life and if he wouldn't be too busy thinking about Liechtenstein he would probably be scared of just taking off and flying away like a balloon. At this very moment he's so happy he would hug Denmark – Damn! – he would even call Norway bróðir.

She loves the ocean. That is one thing Iceland has found out pretty quick and it surprised him, to say at least. After all she's a land locked country. None of her borders meet the sea. He isn't even sure if she has ever learned how to swim.  
But he's last one who's going to complain about her unusual love for the rough ocean. Since it always brings her back to him and there's nothing on this world that makes him happier than her standing in front of his shack with this old, brown leather bag tight in her hands and an excusing smile on her lips.  
She comes by more often recently and Iceland hopes that it's not just because of the ocean. But also maybe, just maybe, because of him. Because she misses him, because she wants to see him, because she actually enjoys spending time with him.  
Iceland gets up from the white painted terrace of the small, black cottage with the bright orange-red roof. Of the many houses and cottages that he has owned in his life, this one is one of his favorites. It lies right on the rocky coast of which jagged edges jut out into the rough sea. In the distance one can see the craggy cliffs, that become shallow coasts. Even a small, white boat, which is his pride and joy, is at anchor here.  
Liechtenstein is sitting on one of the larger stones. Her legs are tucked up with her arms wrapped around them. Her navy blue dress and her short, hay-colored hair flutter in the salty sea wind. She has turned her back to him, but Iceland can imagine her expression all too well. Dreamy. Maybe a little bit longing.  
Cautiously he climbs into her direction. The closer he gets, the wetter the stones get and he has to be careful that he doesn't slip. He is a little bit ashamed that her climbing skills are way more impressive than his own. But actually he shouldn't be surprised. She has told him many times about the high mountains of her homeland and Iceland has to smile when he thinks about how much her eyes sparkle whenever she talks about them.  
“It's so … so beautiful.” Her voice is low, only a little more than a murmur and Iceland's cheeks flush when he finally understands what she said. After all that's a real, proper compliment, right?  
“Mhh”, he nods and tries to sound as disinterested as possible which he manages to do rather bad. Liechtenstein still watches the waves and he clears his throat softly. “M-may …”, the words stumble out of his mouth awkward. He has always had problems with English when he's nervous. “May I sit next to you?”  
Abruptly she turns around to face him with a quite surprised look in her eyes, as if she hadn't really notice his presence until now. But then she smiles slightly and nods. “Sure” She slips a little to make room for him and drags her navy blue dress, on which are some wet spots by now that slowly turn into a thin layer of salt, along.  
Carefully Iceland sits down beside her. The stone is not really dry and he's sure that he'll have a few salty stains on his clothing later as well, but that thought disappears as quickly as it came. He supports his foothold with his hands, just to be safe, and the stone feels rough under his fingers.  
“You know, Iceland,”, Liechtenstein smiles widely and he can't help, but stare at her. She's so beautiful. Just everything about her. The way she closes her eyes while laughing, how she now lets her legs dangle down the rock while slightly bobbing up and down. Just everything. “I envy you almost a little bit.” Giggling she shakes her head. “It's just so lovely here. On the contrary my home seems just ordinary.”  
“Don't say something like that!” His voice is louder than he has expected it to be and when she opens her eyes in surprise, he suddenly thinks that jumping into the sea is in fact a great idea. Why did embarrassing things like that always happen to him? And why does he have to blush so easily? “I-I mean,” he starts to stutter uncertainly, “I'm sure that … that your h-home is … is very pretty too!”  
A pink blush is forming on Liechtenstein's cheeks and her mouth stands slightly open as she looks almost admiringly up to him. “Th-thanks … I-Iceland” For a moment they just look at each other. No one dares to say a word and the slapping of the waves against the rocks echos in Iceland's ears.  
He turns away. Maybe a little bit too hasty, but he has the feeling that is damn shyness is going to kill him any moment. From the corner of his eye he can see that Liechtenstein is also looking at the sea again. He tries to concentrated on the waves as they lap against the high cliffs or the boat which floats by so far away that's nearly just a little spot in front of the horizon. He tries to focus on anything, expect the blond girl next to him.  
His eyes follow the waves' movements, watching the dirty the dirty whitecaps, when he feels something on his hand. It's warm and soft and closes around his hand which is still lying on the cold, rough stone.  
The realization takes him by surprise. It's another hand! But not just any. It's Liechtenstein's. Liechtenstein's hand. Liechtenstein's hand lying upon his own. At first his heart stumbles. Then it seems to stop working at all for a pretty long and probably really unhealthy time span before it continues to beat rather uneven. He can feel how a blush creeps all the way up to his ears and his hands constantly switch between being either too hot or too cold as he glances over to her.  
She's still looking at the ocean, but he catches sight of the small smile on her lips. His gaze drops down to his hand. Indeed, Liechtenstein's hand rests upon his. Her hand is significantly smaller than his own, nevertheless her slender fingers slide into his balled hand and her thumb strokes slowly over his fingers.  
For a second she looks into his eyes, pressing his hand gently with her own that seems to be so much more delicate and fragile and immediately Iceland is a blushing crimson mess. His other hand seems to wander up to his face on its own and he hides himself in it (because shouldn't he be the one to take her hand and not the other way around?), even though Liechtenstein has probably already seen his red cheeks. He doesn't raise his head. Not when he gently returns the pressure and not even when he hears Liechtenstein chuckle slightly.

Iceland is nervous. Of course, he's nervous. He's going to meet him every second now. The man, he already has to thank for more than just one nightmare.  
In the beginning he didn't really think about him. Surely he had known that this situation would await him someday, but that had just been the ghost of a thought that sometimes haunted the back of his head and that had been very, very easy to ignore.  
But now, trying to ignore it wouldn't work as good as it used to. Not to say, it is impossible. After all, he's now in front of his house.  
Exactly, he is standing in front of it. And that is also there the problem begins. He needs to get inside. Although “need” is the wrong word, he wants to get inside. Inside the house where an overprotective, Central European nation with an internationally known fondness for handguns is waiting for him, because he's dating with his little sister.  
No, Iceland definitely doesn't want to get in there.  
But if he doesn't do it, then he has a problem with Liechtenstein. After all, he promised her to pay a visit to her brother. She would probably be really sad, break up with him and never speak a word with him ever again. And Denmark would never let this go. Do you remember when the little one's first girlfriend ran away, because he was too scared to meet her brother? That sounded like something this idiot would say.  
So yes, he has to get in there. And to be honest, what could even happen?  
… wrong question. Immediately there are terrible images popping up in Iceland's mind. Switzerland putting his gun directly at the small place between his eyebrows. Switzerland playing passive-aggressive with his Swiss Army knife. Switzerland having a “conversation” with him that looks more like some sort of a battle. Switzerland mixing poison into Iceland's drink on his next picnic with Liechtenstein …  
Abruptly Iceland is shaken out of his thoughts. Liechtenstein has opened the red painted wooden door in a rather energetic way and is looking down at him, who is standing at the foot of the two stone steps that lead up to the door. A relieved smile is playing on her lips which are painted with pink lip gloss. “Hello Iceland! There you are.” Two small jumps and she is standing next to him. The bright yellow summer dress she wears is blowing behind her. It has to be new or at least he has never seen her wearing it.  
She presses a kiss on his lips that is over far too quickly to allow Iceland to do anything else beside standing there like a fish on dry ground and just looking at her with big eyes.  
“I was already afraid that you'll be late.” She admits quietly and Iceland can see that her cheeks have flushed slightly, almost as if she's embarrassed for doubting him. “But now you're here!” She continues quickly with much more enthusiasm in her voice than Iceland can manage to bring up at the moment.  
“Come, brother is waiting!”  
He is, for obvious reasons, not that keen to meet are brother and he's pretty sure that after all those things he had heard about Switzerland this feeling is mutual – though Switzerland would probably be even happier if someone like him wouldn't exist at all. But there's no possibility to go back now anyway and so he follows Liechtenstein back into the house with trembling hands.  
Switzerland is sitting on a rustic wooden bench in the garden. Before him stands a wooden table with a spotless, white tablecloth and two other chairs on which lie red and white plaid pillows. Someone, Iceland guesses that it was Liechtenstein, has placed a small vase of daffodils on the table.  
As Switzerland notices the two newcomers, he gets up and walks towards them. The man is a little smaller than Iceland. Something is not necessarily grateful for, although it normally helps his self-confidence when he's taller than his interlocutor. But even as the smaller one Switzerland manages to have this enormous authority that makes Iceland feel like he's a student who was asked to the principal's office. (But at least, there's no gun in sight. That's a good sign, right?)  
“Switzerland”, mutters the blonde nation in front of him and stretches his hand out while he surveys him so intensely that he feels like tons of little daggers pierce through him.  
Trembling (and praying that Switzerland doesn't notice) he takes the hand and shakes it. “Iceland”  
“Nice to meet you”, comes the terse reply that doesn't sound like he's glad to meet Iceland at all.  
Uncertain Iceland follows Switzerland. His hand seems to move on its own as it shifts into Liechtenstein's and a sense of reassurance rolls over him when she gently presses his hand and smiles encouragingly.  
And maybe, he thinks, it's not that bad. Switzerland glances at him, still with a look that could freeze hell and he doesn't really know what to say, because his throat feels as dry as the Sahara desert. Besides he fears to make himself even more unpopular with the Central European nation when he makes an unthoughtful comment. But Liechtenstein is sitting beside him, holding his hand and that alone gives him enough courage to resist her brother's critical look. (Moreover there's still no gun in sight.)  
It's okay. Sure, Iceland had more beautiful experiences (for example kissing Liechtenstein, but he probably shouldn't say this), but there also had been worse ones. Liechtenstein manages to keep the conversation alive, telling funny or rather embarrassing little stories and after a few minutes he's brave enough to interject something now and then.  
But all this changes when Liechtenstein abruptly gets up and says to no one in particular that she's going to bring some new cake. She presses a quick kiss on Iceland's forehead and mutters something in his ear that strongly sounds like “Don't worry, you'll manage it”.  
Iceland is about to laugh out loud (and certainly extremely disturbing). He'll manage that – yeah, sure, what else? Now Switzerland is probably getting his gun and then he'll bite the dust. He throws a last desperate, almost pleading look after his girlfriend. Then he's alone with her fearful, older brother.  
His gaze is fixed on the gleaming white tablecloth and his fingers begin to play with it until Switzerland clears his throat. Suddenly he lets go of the tablecloth and looks at the other nation while putting a lot of effort into trying to fight the blush that creeps up his cheeks.  
However when glances at the Switzerland he finds no angry man with hateful eyes as he expected, but a rather uncertain man who scratches his cheek and looks almost as nervous as Iceland himself.  
“So, uh, Iceland”, Switzerland starts rather haltingly, “You've to believe me that I was pretty surprised than Liechtenstein told me that she has a boyfriend.”  
“Oh”, is all Iceland is able to say. He's still too overwhelmed by the fact that he still isn't dead.  
“Yeah”, Switzerland scratches his head, “The thought that she, well, that she would be already interested in boys honestly never crossed my mind.”  
Iceland nods and need to bite his tongue in order to resist the urge to remark that Liechtenstein is a several hundred years old nation – older than Germany, by far.  
“So what I actually want to say is that …”, the Central European nation clears his throat again, visibly uncomfortable, “I want my little sister to be happy and if she needs you for that”, errs Iceland or did that sound more derogatory than necessary?, “then it's alright with me.”  
For a moment Iceland believes he misheard it, because there's no way Switzerland actually said that, right? Does that really mean what he thinks it means? Could that possibly be a some sort of permission to go out with Liechtenstein?  
“But that doesn't mean that I'm just gonna sit there and watch!”, suddenly all the uncertainty has disappeared from Switzerland's face and his voice has the threatening tone which the northern European island expected. His brother in law (or whatever they're) leans forward so much that Iceland reflexively dodges back and brags against the back of his chair. “If you hurt her, I'm gonna hurt you! Do you understand that?”, Switzerland hisses at him with clenched teeth and Iceland can only nod. “Good”  
For a while they sit still, no one says a word and Iceland begins to wonder where Liechtenstein remains with the cake. Until Switzerland snaps him out of his thoughts again. “Can you shoot?”  
Uncertain Iceland shrugs with his shoulders. “Yes, no … a little bit.”  
Switzerland nods, more to himself than to Iceland. “Nothing one couldn't change.” And before Iceland is able to ask what exactly the blonde nation wants to imply, Liechtenstein comes out of the house, in her hands a large tray which is overloaded with already cut pieces of cake and a steaming coffeepot.  
Smiling she places a plate and a cup in front of them and hands them both a piece of cake, before she sits down next to Iceland and presses his hand. He knows what she wants to say with this action. “It wasn't so bad, right?” He shakes his head lightly, so inconspicuous that only she can notice. A silent “well …”.  
“He's a nice one.”, Switzerland says completely surprising for the third time this afternoon. But this time it seems not only to amaze Iceland, Liechtenstein also frowns at her big brother. “You two make a good couple.”, he adds, before he decides to ignore the younger nations and focuses on his cake.  
Liechtensteins stares at Switzerland with wide eyes for a few moments until she slowly turns to Iceland and shots him a look that clearly says “What have you done to him?”. Iceland can only watch his girlfriend that is just as perplex as he is and shrug again. If he only knew …


End file.
